


Untitled and Unfinished Sequel

by allwedidwaskiss



Series: Work In Progress 'Verse [2]
Category: Common Law (TV)
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:13:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22264684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allwedidwaskiss/pseuds/allwedidwaskiss
Summary: Please see latest update on Series page for pertinent details
Relationships: Travis Marks & Wes Mitchell, Travis Marks/Wes Mitchell
Series: Work In Progress 'Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/35571
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Untitled and Unfinished Sequel

**Author's Note:**

> Please see latest update on Series page for pertinent details

Friday started off pretty normally. Travis had just gotten into the precinct (Wes had of course, already been there for about an hour, making sure his paperwork was in order and also that Travis’ mug was where it was supposed to be, because like, _never_ again) when they caught a case.

Travis sauntered in wearing Wes’ favorite leather jacket, grabbed some coffee and had been sitting at their desk for approximately ten minutes when the Captain had come over.

“Mornin’, fellas.” They both turned at the sound of the older man’s voice.

Travis only grinned in greeting as he continued to sip his coffee unhurriedly.

“Morning, Captain,” Wes said politely for the both of them shooting Travis a chastising glance. The other man grimaced in embarrassment.

“Yeah. Top of the to ya, Cap.” Travis amended, shooting Wes a plaintive look that practically screamed, “See, I did what you wanted”. Neither of them noticed the Captain’s raised eyebrow at this exchange, but at this point he had decided to stop trying to understand the detective’s interactions.

“Murder, uptown. Looks like a lover’s spat gone Top Chef.” Sutton went on while he handed Wes the case file, grinning at his little joke.

“Hmm.” Wes began thumbing through the preliminary, already noticing odd details that might be pertinent. It was nothing out of the ordinary; a murdered woman found in her apartment, no forced entry, obviously a crime of passion judging by her twenty-odd stab wounds.

“We’re first on the scene, then?” he asked when he was done. Travis was still placidly sipping coffee.

“Yeah, you two are my best.” The Captain answered. “Wes, you been doing anything new lately?”

In response to Wes’ raised eyebrow to the non sequitur, he continued.

“Your aura is very calming of late, like it’s been cleansed by tantric attentions,” Sutton shrugged, turning away.

“Keep it up, whatever it is. It’s working. Namaste, boys.” He shot over his shoulder as he strolled off, thankfully missing how Wes’ jaw dropped and his face instantly colored at the observation.

Travis almost choked on his coffee laughing.

“Yeah, Wes. Keep it up.” He teased with an overly exaggerated wink as he stood.

By the time Travis was back from the break room, Wes had managed to stop doing his best impression of a fire hydrant and had schooled his face to his usual glower.

It wasn’t enough to get rid of Travis’ smug grin for the rest of the morning though.

Their morning progressed as normally as could be expected; they spoke to the next of kin, followed some leads and finally set their sights on Timothy Greene, live-in boyfriend of the deceased’s work colleague.

Not per usual, Wes was distracted and antsy.

Wes was struggling over how to compartmentalize his conflicted feelings for Travis. Just like he had been for a month.

Wes had never felt like this before, so consumed by another person. Maybe with Alex, but that had been a completely different sort of feeling, open and inviting. _Safe_ even.

When they’d met in law school, he had liked her sweaters and the way her hair always fell into her face. She had been nice and smiled easily and made him feel warm and funny and like the kind of person he’d always thought he’d be.

It was only logical that they would date. Then when they still were together, four years later, interning at the same firm, he’d popped the question because he had been sure what her answer would be.

She had always been predictably anodyne and non-threatening, at least before he’d become a cop. And even then, she’d held her tongue most of the time, limiting herself to passive-aggressive emails about the dangers of law enforcement and comments about testosterone levels.

This though, what he and Travis had started wasn’t safe at all. It was, at times, entirely overwhelming, tempestuous (which was pretty much a given when dealing with the other detective), and always confusing.

Travis was driving him crazy, and not just in the way he normally did, but also in new, bewildering, irritating ways as well. He was colonizing all of Wes’ thoughts, waking and dreaming.

Like now, they had just arrested their suspect (a one _very_ twitchy Mr. Timothy Greene) and were standing outside the interrogation room in comfortable silence, making him sweat before they went in. Glancing at Travis, Wes was struck with the overwhelming desire to wrap this up as quickly as possible.

Not for the resolution of the case, no. What he really wants is to whisk Travis back to his room and spend hours making out like they’re in high school.

“Ready? You wanna be the good cop or the bad cop?” Travis asked playfully, his grin open and completely irresistible. Like right now, all Wes wants to do is kiss the shit out of him. It’s kind of becoming a problem.

“I like being the bad cop,” Wes said deadpan knowing it’ll make his partner smile. Travis was still laughing when they opened the door and Wes gets this stupid, satisfied feeling in his chest at the sound.

Sometimes when they’re together, Wes forgets everything else about the other man but his easy smiles and his warm hands, the whisper of his voice ghosting words of desire and affection over Wes’ skin.

Then there were other times when Wes found himself idly wondering if he could get away with murdering Travis (he was a cop after all, he knew how to leave behind almost _no_ physical evidence and establish an airtight alibi).

Their partnership was pretty much business as usual, except now there were long glances across their desks and hand holding of the manliest variety possible (Travis’ word’s, not his) in the car. And one time, a pretty awesome make-out session in the supply closet. It had been hushed, frantic and cramped but oh, so hot.

Ever since the “Great Handcuff Adventure”, as half of the precinct had taken to calling it, he and Travis had unconsciously ventured into a sort of truce. Now, instead of blowing up in public, Wes saved the more major of his aggravations and complaints for arguments in private.

Strangely, the almost daily desire to strangle his partner was mostly forgotten. Not entirely though, Travis still pushed his buttons like no one else.

Perfect example, last week when Travis had decided it would be funny to _drench_ him with the super-soaker they had confiscated.

Though Travis would have more than deserved it. The suit Wes had been wearing was a brand new, tailored, Italian cut that the blonde had been a trifle excited to wear out for the first time (possibly more than a trifle as he had worn his special tie and matching boxers, but no one needed to know that) and had been a bit excited for Travis to see him in it (he wasn’t conceited, he just knew he looked _good_ in a suit, especially Italian cut).

But typical of Travis, he hadn’t noticed Wes’ efforts at preening and had instead hidden behind a bush and hosed him with the impressively strong spray from the stupid plastic gun.

Wes’d stood there, wet and pissed as a cat caught in the rain, utterly disbelieving at how _childish_ Travis could be, glaring like he was Darth Vader and could choke the life out of him.

Falling back on one of Dr. Ryan’s techniques, he slowly counted to ten and tried to remind himself that while he _really_ wanted to punch the other detective in the jaw, he probably really _shouldn’t_ , though he couldn’t exactly remember why at the moment.

Oh, yeah. They’re practically sleeping together now. Though Wes was having trouble remembering why that was happening at the moment as well.

Travis’ mischievous smile had faded into a more cautious and apologetic grimace after about half a minute of chilled silence and laser eyes, realizing that his “joke” had gotten him put in the doghouse.

He scrubbed his super soaker free hand over the back of his neck and turned the grin back up, trying to charm his way out of trouble.

“I thought-” he’d started only for Wes to cut him off tersely.

“We will discuss this later,” he’d hissed as he squelched his way to the car.

Travis followed him and stood at the passenger door, trying not to look like the guilty kid still holding his baseball mitt when the neighbor’s window mysteriously turned up broken.

Really, the word _discussion_ was a bit of a misnomer, to be honest. Wes usually bitched at Travis who placidly blinked a lot and then mumbled, “Sorry,” into the blonde’s skin between kisses. This method had actually proven embarrassingly effective towards shutting Wes and his grumbling up.

Even though it had taken a _lot_ of cajoling kisses for Wes to stop ranting about having to get his brand new suit, which he’d only had on for _three hours,_ dry-cleaned.

He was under no illusions that Travis didn’t understand the effect he had on him. And he knew that letting his partner get away with it was only headed towards trouble, but at the moment, he couldn’t make himself care.

Not when Travis was currently backing their suspect into a wall (so much for Wes being the bad cop) and growling questions into his face, making use of that delectably hot stare to intimidate the scared, but most likely guilty, Timothy Greene into confessing. Every syllable of his voice sending shivers down Wes’ spine.

Matter of fact, the simple notion that Wes was turned on when Travis growled and glowered should have alarmed him, or at least bothered him, but Wes was riding Cloud Nine and had been for the past month or so.

Not a lot was rubbing Wes the wrong way like it used to as Sutton had so irritatingly picked up on.

Even the fact that Dr. Ryan’s smiles had been particularly _knowing_ of late wasn’t bothering him as much as it should have since he normally didn’t like to think about the decidedly physic powers their shrink exhibited on a near-daily basis anyway, especially when they pertained to his and Travis’… whatever it was.

Of course they hadn’t said anything to anyone, least of all Dr. Ryan. Wes was well aware of the consequences involved in letting anyone at work know what had actually happened between them.

At best, they would be the subject of even more taunting, infamy and ridicule than they usually were now, and at worst, the Captain would finally have no choice but to split them up.

Fraternization among partners was strictly frowned upon and Wes understood the logic, knew that it could and probably would engender reckless behavior in the field; the need to back up your partner above all else amplified by romantic emotions, unable to think about danger coming near the person you cared so deeply about.

“Earth to Wes!” Travis’ voice startled him out of his own mind.

“Whazzat?” he barked, trying not to look guilty.

“You done with that, Space Cadet?” Travis smirked at him, nodding towards the stapler he had been holding in his slack hand for who knew how long.

“Yes. Sorry. I was thinking.” He passed the stapler over, his fingers tingling where their hands brushed, both of them lingering for a few seconds.

Travis got a weird look on his face but it disappeared almost as soon as it had appeared, before Wes could get a good read on it. The other detective shook his head as if clearing it and met Wes’ eyes again.

“You about ready to call it a day? You done with your report? Lemme copy it.” He mock-whispered, making grabby hands.

“No,” Wes snapped. “Write your own. Sutton will know, seeing as you can’t write a compound sentence to save your life.” He reprimanded, though he softened his voice so that Travis would know he didn’t really mean it.

“Weeeeees! Come onnnn!” Travis whined, actually pulling out the puppy-dog eyes.

Wes very nearly gave in. But only nearly.

“No,” he answered sternly. “If you’re not done in an hour, you can come in early tomorrow and finish.” He pointedly ignored Travis’ pout, instead returning his attention to his almost complete report.

Wes was under no illusions that he _cared_ about Travis, pouting hadn’t almost worked on him since high school.

The trouble was, he was a diamonds are forever kind of guy; proposals, marriage and long-term relationships were kind of his gig.

Once Wes knew what he was feeling, the other person knew it too, whether it was through an engagement ring or at the tail end of a very serious conversation.

The fact that he hadn’t had one of these with Travis yet was pretty much the only thing that bothered him about the whole ordeal (other than the fact that sometimes if Wes didn’t know better, he could swear that Travis had never mentally developed past the age of thirteen).

Wes _knew_ his partner inside and out, knew his habits and could predict his reactions to almost every situation with only a fifteen percent margin of error (which was only due to Travis’ innate unpredictability) and was well aware that his modus operandi when it came to relationships was the exact opposite of his partner’s.

He was terrified of having The Conversation with Travis. That one, ridiculously loaded (and statistically terrifying) talk where Wes laid all his cards on the table and was one hundred percent unsure what the other detective’s response would be.

Wes knew how he felt about Travis but was completely unsure about how Travis actually felt about him in return. In fact, that specific detail worried him the most when he wasn’t finding himself irrevocably and overwhelmingly attracted to the other man at increasingly inappropriate moments during the day.

Like right now, watching Travis poke his tongue out in concentration as he typed haltingly, pausing occasionally and screwing his face up in a way that Wes had only recently admitted to himself was actually the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

Sometimes it was all he could do from physically restraining himself from just grabbing his partner and pulling him close, location be damned.

He savored the moments they stole during the day. And of course the time they spent alone, ensconced in Wes’ hotel room.

They never went back to Travis’ trailer.

Not that Wes wanted to, considering how many past conquest’s footsteps he would be treading in. He actually hated the trailer, with a passion that surprised him. Whenever Travis didn’t spend the night (which was becoming increasingly more rare), he would go back to the trailer.

Just the thought of Travis alone there, with all the ghosts of all of his numerous sexual liaisons on every surface, in every room; constant reminders of what he’d had before they’d gotten together, made Wes’ skin crawl unpleasantly.

What if Travis suddenly remembered what that was like, his freedom, that he wanted it back, was done playing at commitment?

Not that Wes thought Travis was weak or easily swayed (quite the opposite if Wes trying to tell him what to do _ever_ was any indication) but the uncertainty was driving him up the wall.

Besides, Wes actually liked having Travis in his hotel room, in the space that he had carved out for himself after the divorce with Alex. Before it had seemed so empty and sad, a metaphor for his life, if he wanted to be high-handed.

Now though, there were echoes of Travis everywhere.

The memory of his laughter a comfort in Wes’ mind as he puttered around the suite by himself or his thoughts flashing to Travis when he found a spare cufflink or sock underneath the bed. Some of his clothes had even migrated into Wes’ closet (strictly for days he accidentally slept over so it wasn’t obvious they’d been together).

Even with the uncontested improvement of having Travis to share his space with most of the time, Wes was actively considering moving out of the hotel more each day. He wanted a place where there was enough closet space for all of Travis’ clothes (if he wanted it) and maybe pictures on the wall or a home entertainment system, complete with the Dr. Sexy DVD box set of course.

Absently debating the merits of an apartment over a house, he watched as Simpson came over to chat with Travis. This wasn’t new, she dropped by every so often, possibly once a week.

Wes had never really spared her much thought; she was a good detective and nice enough. He, for all extents and purposes, had no _reason_ to dislike her.

But watching her flick her hair over her shoulder and practically fall into Travis’ lap, laughing entirely too loudly at some joke he had made, Wes was suddenly gripped with an intense desire to pull his firearm.

Not that he was _jealous_ ; he just… didn’t _like_ it (like, really, where did she get her flirting tips, Teen Beat?). Women had always been an area Travis more than excelled at and the constant flirting grated on his nerves, mostly because it was an hourly occurrence.

It was a never-ending parade of enhanced cleavage and lipsticked mouths being thrust in Travis’ direction. At the coffee place, restaurants, hell, even some of the more adventurous suspects and less fragile relatives of their victims sometimes made a pass at him.

Wes had never minded before but now, truth be told, it made him a little nervous. Like maybe if the right pair of breasts found their way into his line of sight, Travis would suddenly remember he’d spent his entire adult life running through women like Simpson ran through issues of Cosmo and change his mind about whatever it was they had going between them.

“Oh, my God! What did you do then?” Simpson exclaimed, still laughing way too hard. Her voice was a tad desperate to Wes’ ears and he idly wondered why she didn’t just cut to the chase and start humping Travis’ leg; it would probably be less embarrassing for everyone.

From the look on Travis’ face, he knew what she was up to, but he just kept on his default, emptily charming smile and continued his anecdote, gesturing widely, his voice lulling Wes’ outraged feelings.

And there you have another bullet point on Wes’ pathetically long laundry list of Travis-related problems. Wes had previously been straight as an arrow for as long as he could remember. In fact, Travis was the only man he’d ever felt something for besides friendship, not even taking into account how _attracted_ to his partner he was.

He had never experienced this kind of _want_ before. Every time Travis touched him, Wes had to studiously think of baseball or that one time he’d seen his mom coming out of the shower.

He wanted his partner so desperately that sometimes he actually couldn’t think about anything else; just the thought of them intertwined under the sheets with nothing between them, the image of miles of warm, bronzed skin sliding against his own was enough to seriously derail almost anything Wes had been focusing on, life and death matters excluded (and even then only sometimes. God, he had it bad).

Somehow, through sheer determination, Wes had refrained from actual intercourse with Travis so far (though they’d been having an awesome time doing just about everything else they could think of).

The blonde knew it was inevitable, the way he couldn’t keep his hands off Travis, his mind away from thoughts of him (generally or in terms of his shockingly explicit daydreams), his gaze in any other direction; how a simple kiss from the other man made his heart attempt uncomfortable acrobatics spoke volumes to the dwindling reserves of his willpower.

He was terrified of letting himself go all the way with Travis (and also that he might be turning into a thirteen year old girl, but one problem at a time), who had been oddly accommodating with never pushing Wes farther than they had already gone.

Wes was scared with the implications of sleeping with Travis; the other man was a creature of carnal habit; love ‘em and leave ‘em. After all, Wes had been his partner for five years (and literally countless sexual partners).

He hadn’t forgotten the fact that he had all but told Travis he loved him and received no such affirmation from the other man.

He wasn’t unhappy about it, he wasn’t even sure if Travis had ever _been_ in love or knew what it felt like or if he was even ready for it. He knew the other man genuinely cared about him and was content to let Wes set the pace, which the blonde found both reassuring and endearing.

To Wes, it was never actually real, a commitment that it would hurt significantly to walk away from, if he didn’t have sex with the other person. Even though Wes realized he was kidding himself there, it would kill him to walk away from Travis for any reason that it had been that way for a long time now.

They were physically intimate in other ways though and cuddled like it was going out of style (even through Travis would insist it was “lounging together comfortably”). Wes genuinely enjoyed the “comfortable lounging” on his couch, in bed and once in the car on a stakeout and the intense make out sessions it always evolved into, usually followed by extensive foreplay resulting in mutual orgasms all around.

He also really enjoyed the fact that they could just be physically close now without the excuse of cramped basement closets (seriously, what was with this whole closet fetish… had that always been a thing?), they hadn’t taken that last step.

Wes didn’t have any problems with his diminishing heteronormative prospects; he knew he wanted Travis and not much else for the foreseeable future; that he was probably was falling (already) in love with him.

There was no other way to describe this feeling. He had been with Alex in the same way that you hold on to a ratty sweater long after the time you should have shredded it for rags or even just put it straight in the garbage.

He had loved her in the way that you love most things, because they love you.

The way you feel about a pet or a car that has never given you any problems. Their love had been more borne out of a sense of duty because Wes had known that Alex loved him. He had loved her in return, but never in any way that felt urgent like it did with Travis.

He felt like he needed the other man to continue breathing normally most days, where as he had needed Alex in the way that he had the habit of keeping his socks in pairs. Something innate to the distinct desire for order and stability, loving Alex had never been a messy affair.

Alex had been stacked blocks, uniform and neat. She was the comfort he got from opening a drawer in the kitchen and seeing all the utensils separated and collected by type and size; the feeling he got from all of them being organized and soothing in their respective destinations.

Being with Travis was the exact opposite and while Wes loved that in itself, it was also a tad confusing to his own definitions of things. Travis was a unique experience, comprised entirely of conflicting thoughts and emotions, emphasized and made exciting and difficult by the fact that Wes sometimes had no idea what his partner would do next.

It was like trying to work with and be in a relationship with someone who had no organized structure in his mind. Being with and around Travis was chaotic and terrifying, like coming home to realize you were robbed and the intruders had not only made off with your television but had also decided to come into your kitchen and scatter every single piece of cutlery to the floor, the countertops, the freezer; just a cluster of confusion and disarray where you’re still finding the odd spoon months down the line.

And maybe Wes had a thing about people who just stored their cutlery wherever they could and a strong opinion about what having an organized kitchen meant about you and the way you lived your life, but whatever, that was neither here nor there (especially since comparing Travis to being robbed by very kitchen-concerned thieves only made matters more ridiculous).

Travis was everything he could never be, impetuous and daring and adventurous and childish and _fun_. Everything about the other detective made Wes simultaneously the happiest and most unsure he had even been.

They had been doing this for so long that Wes wasn’t even sure he wanted to find out what life without Travis with him every day would even be like (he didn’t remember now, after five years, who he had even been without Travis to keep in line and look after, and then, to look _at_ and try to contain himself).

The other man was his counterpart, in almost every sense of the word. They fit together like that puzzle piece of the odd-shaped corner, that final piece of blue sky that looked like it had come in another box and there was no way it was going where the last piece should fit.

And then you moved your hand just _so_ and there it was, clear as day that it did fit there and had all along, even though you’d never have known it unless you tried.

Wes needed Travis like he needed a hole in the head, but also like he needed air.

Snapping back the reality, he typed up Greene’s confession to murdering his girlfriend’s lover out of jealousy and anger, silently commiserating with doing crazy stupid things for love as he revised his opinion of Simpson. She was possibly the most obnoxious person on the planet and her laugh was stupid. And her eyes were too close together.

“And then Wes drove the fucking car into the lake!”

Travis ended his story and Simpson laughed uproariously, reached out and laid her fucking _hand on his arm_.

Wes possibly imagined throwing her walking off of a cliff for a minute, seeing nothing but red.

But then Travis simply said, “I know. See ya later, I gotta finish this,” effectively dismissing her, gesturing to the mess of paper work and Wes had probably never been happier.

Except for how he felt a second later when Travis caught his gaze, a significant look on his face, slow smile spreading across his features.

“You can stop glaring now, she’s gone.” He said easily, tone almost teasing but not quite there.

“I wasn’t glaring,” he answered too fast, purposefully breaking eye contact to stare intensely at his screen, even though he was done.

“If you say so. I like ‘em tall, blonde and OCD anyways. I’m almost done here. Lunch after?” Travis said absently, returning to his work, not seeing Wes’ pleased expression.

Travis was no idiot, he _knew_. He knew people to the point that sometimes he wondered if he was psychic, just a little bit. And Wes definitely wasn’t people; he was closer to Wes than he’d been to anybody since he had graduated high school.

They were sitting at their desk, diligently trying to get their paperwork done, but more like Travis kept staring at the blonde for indeterminate amounts of time before he realized what he was doing and tried to jerk his attention back to his work.

Travis was well aware of the kind of person Wes was, he knew what that far away look in Wes’ eyes was; it was making an appearance now as the other detective focused on the middle ground, not seeing at anything at all, his hand absently cradling his pen.

Travis could practically see the picket fences dancing behind his partner’s eyes, accompanied by monogamy and commitment (in matching taffeta tutus).

It wasn’t that Travis didn’t want that, didn’t want to give it to Wes. He was just wracked with doubt. The longest relationship he could remember being in was with Tanya Wells for two years in high school.

He had been desperate that she never know about his home life, not that he was ashamed, but he had wanted to seem like he was good enough, _stable_ enough, for her.

When you loved someone (and he had sure as hell thought he was in love with her at the time) you were supposed to keep them safe; be steady and sure, a source of comfort, not uncertainty. Travis didn’t want her to know about the foster homes because he wanted her to think that he was secure, not going anywhere, could be trusted like everyone else.

Tanya was the best thing to happen to him since before he could remember; he still remembered her face fondly. She had been petite, just short of five foot and everything about her had been dainty from her curly brown hair down to the freckles on her nose. She wore her hair in high ponytails and always had a sweater to match her outfit. Travis was a goner before he even knew her name.

He first saw her across the cafeteria the last week of freshman year and had asked for her number. She’d wrinkled her nose adorably and gave it to him. They spent the whole summer on the phone, it felt like, or at least that’s what Susan insisted, and by the time fall rolled around, they were inseparable.

He had moved between three families when he was with her, was always careful to call his foster moms by the endearment lest he forget which one he was talking about and let the wrong names slip side by side and had a laundry list of excuses why they always had to go over to her house.

They split up three months before graduation.

Travis had forgotten he’d led Susan drop him off once junior year where Tanya had been waiting for him. Then senior year, Azalea had dropped him off and it had all fallen apart and Tanya had been waiting for him since he had missed the bus.

Tanya had been curious at first and Travis’ abrupt answer only made her more so. She kept asking questions, gradually moving into anger when Travis refused to give her a straight answer, and finally into being hurt once Travis couldn’t hide the truth anymore.

Then she had been disgusted by his lack of trust in their relationship, her anger resolving into something ugly when they got into one argument too many and she had voiced Travis’ worst fear, that he didn’t know love when he saw it because his real parents hadn’t been around to show him.

The look on Tanya’s face afterwards let Travis know how much she wished she could take it back, but he knew that she had been thinking it and that knowledge alone was enough.

They didn’t speak again after that, Travis actively avoided her in the halls and pretended she didn’t exist whenever she seemed to be trying to work up the nerve to talk to him. As soon as his eighteenth birthday rolled around, Travis moved out of Azalea’s into a small co-op with a couple of guys from the baseball team.

Azalea did call him one day, about six months later to say that Tanya had stopped by, wanting to talk to him, and forever sweet though oblivious; she passed along the number and address Tanya had left.

He pretended to write it down to make his mom happy but never saw or heard from Tanya again.

After that, Travis hadn’t bothered again. He learned the ropes of solitude, took what he could get where he could get it and was grateful for it. He was always solicitous, distantly affectionate and emotionally vague with his partners. He’d never had any complaints and it could never be said that Travis Marks wasn’t a fun time, in or out of the sack.

He had developed a system. He’d make himself seem available enough that they thought they could fix him (yeah, I never knew my parents but I loved every single one of my foster families so it was enough in some ways, but I don’t want to talk about that), and then just gradually shut down (work is crazy, sorry I can’t make it, I don’t know, I think I just need some space).

It was perfect; he could always bring up his childhood if there were any doubts or recriminations, no one wants to be the person hounding an orphan for emotional commitment it wasn’t his fault he hadn’t learned.

He’d managed to condense the majority of his encounters to six days at the most, depending on how much fun the other person was, and down to three at the least, if he thought they might be getting too clingy. Of course, there were always outliers, but they didn’t count.

Travis had been the _smoothest_ operator for years. Had never given anything more than an extremely fleeting thought to a real commitment.

And then Wes had happened. When they were still just partners, Wes hadn’t let Travis fall back on his old tricks. He was pushy, demanding, exacting, condescending and a complete jackass most of the time.

But Travis loved the way that Wes didn’t put up with any of his shit.

He’d held Travis accountable, had expected honesty, trust and friendship from Travis, which had scared him at first but when he’d realized that he’d be getting them back in return, he’d felt more content than he ever had in a countless string of beds he barely remembered.

Even before he’d realized Wes’ feelings for him or his own in return, Wes had conditioned him into knowing what a functioning relationship looked like. Until it hadn’t been functioning anymore and was pear-shaped as all hell with the arguing and the weird strain that had crept up on them (incidents involving guns aside).

But somehow they had come back from it, when any two other (sane, his mind provided smarmily) people would have walked away long before they had found this incredibly confusing way to fix things by falling into bed together (though that’s how Travis approaches roughly eighty percent of his problems anyway).

To him the solution was nothing less than he’d expect from them, unconventional as all hell but crazy enough to work for both of them. Given everything that had gone on between them, the fact that instead of just deciding to call it quits (like _sane_ people, his mind specified again, sounding decidedly smug); they had somehow managed to complicate things even further by adding sex (which, it should be noted, is fucking **awesomemindnumbingly** hot, even at the foreplay stage) and their extremely tangled emotional webs to the situation.

Trying to focus on the facts, Travis contemplated everything that had led them to this point:

Catch a tough case and not for the first time realize your ex-partner is an idiot, decide to take matters into your own hands. Meet and work said case with new partner who used to be a lawyer, solve case but unintentionally sort of double-cross idiot ex-partner in the process (Will had been a nice guy, really but he really sucked at closing cases and Travis hadn’t _asked_ anyone to put him in the paper, thank you very much), discover you work really well with new partner despite the fact that he is obviously sort of a douchebag. End up getting closer to partner over the next few years as he becomes your best and only friend who wasn’t related to you (though most of the time you fantasize about shaving his head in his sleep), get sort of adopted by partner and his wife (who is actually really cool so of course you become friends with her, she reminds you of Maria’s daughter, Constantia, who was the best sister ever). Have partner fall in love with you while still married to pretty awesome lawyer wife (sorry, Alex, he still felt kind of guilty about that), don’t realize that partner is in love with you, unwittingly be the reason for partner’s really emotionally messy divorce from said lawyer wife (he should really send her a fruit basket or something), be completely oblivious to real reason behind divorce (namely, _you_ but only because partner is more emotionally constipated than you, if that’s even _possible)_ , shoot your big mouth off and force partner to snap and pull his firearm on you (though Travis still thinks Wes _completely_ overreacted, surely beating him down would have gotten the point across just as well…), realize that partner is in love with you with the business end of his death stick in your face, feel simultaneously really cold and warm all over in the face of the utter fucking magnitude of this realization (though it could have been from the fear that Wes would actually shoot him), get put in couple’s counseling by your insane and in common opinion nearing-senile Captain, become laughingstock of department (fuck ‘em, they can laugh, they all wished their arrest rate was half as good). Keep working with partner even though the weird (sexual – hindsight is twenty fucking twenty) tension is just getting worse, both you and partner refuse to behave like human beings and cause hundreds of dollars in property damage having fistfights in the precinct on a semi-regular basis (which figures, they had needed _some_ sort of outlet with all the denial and frustration that had been going around), try to ignore how that makes your stomach do a thing (like that time you found out you were mildly lactose intolerant and were vaguely in pain but sort of just really uncomfortable at the same time for about three hours). Have partner hide favorite mug as a joke (in extremely poor taste in case anyone was wondering), _possibly_ overreact to missing mug (priceless in its sentimental value, so he still feels he was justified), shoot gun off in the precinct, end up handcuffed to partner in a pop-psychology attempt to make them work on their anger (he’s not the one with anger issues, _Wes_ is the one with anger issues, at least Travis didn’t point his gun at a _person_ ), suddenly realize that you actually realized a long while ago that partner’s feelings aren’t so much unrequited, decide to do something about it, sort of seduce your partner but don’t actually resolve anything (no, that would be too easy and is obviously how other people get to live their lives), enter into a weird not-relationship that is sort of a relationship where there is entirely too much cuddling but no actual sex, continue the most bizarre partnership in the history of the human relations (now with weird _emotional_ tension and hand jobs! Which have both sort of been great for a change of pace, really). Realize that partner doesn’t know you know how often he is completely uncouthly glancing in our direction lately and holding your hand a lot more (the hand-holding is nice, though Travis tries to butch it up as much as possible which never works as intended because Wes has really _delicate_ fingers that are all over his palm and his wrist and entwined between his all at the same time so the hand-holding tends to blend into a very mushy, sensitive, _sweet_ activity that Travis actually enjoys more than he should, but will never admit, even under pain of death), realize that partner is ready to pick out china patterns (because really, Wes is entirely too predictable), actively focus on not freaking out about how you sort of wouldn’t object to a tasteful set (nothing _whatsoever_ with flora of **any** kind, while he’s most likely in a gearing-up-to-be in a long-term homosexual relationship, he’s just not _that_ kind of guy), try to figure out what the fuck all this means, exactly, and what you think your next move should be, but more importantly, try to think about what your partner wants your next move to be (he hasn’t said anything, but the glances and handholding and no penetration sexy times are pointed in one direction; Travis likes it, so he should probably put a ring on it).

Even now, in spite of all that, something wonderful had fallen into his lap. He is just unbelievably desperate **not** to fuck it up.

The conclusion that he reached at the end of this long and winding road was that Wes wanted, like, sterling anniversaries (or were they silver? Only one was an anniversary but both were jewelry, so like, thanks for making things confusing, guys who name anniversaries, completely arbitrary, Travis suspects sullenly) and vacations and for Travis to say thing _out loud_ , where they can’t ever be taken back.

Travis had been so emotionally inaccessible for such a long time he barely remembers what it means to feel like this. Hell, he had been East Berlin, circa anytime between 1961 and 1989 in terms of emotional isolation. There were practically ‘Stay Out’ signs printed on his forehead.

All emotions attempting to cross the border will shot, to kill, on sight.  
_NO WARNINGS._

And maybe, quite possibly, he was officially bugging the fuck out.

He was uncertain where his train of thought had stopped being logical, though convoluted (at least it had been linear and based on the facts of the situation) and had managed to transform itself into a feeling akin to a horned gremlin that was now trying to crack all his ribs with a really painfully sharp hammer and also detoured into frantic metaphors about Communists and their fondness for guns…

Wes would fit right in, not only does he look like Hitler’s wet dream/poster-child for a better, blonder, more Nordic tomorrow, his partner’s partiality for guns doesn’t even have to be questioned (yes, Travis was still harping on the gun in his face thing, he had forgiven Wes but that certainly doesn’t mean he should forget about it).

Travis couldn’t help it when the beginnings of a grin snuck across his face. Despite the confusion of the last few minutes and how uncertain he was, at this moment he felt nothing by unbridled amusement and regard at the thought of the _face_ that his partner would make if he were to mention his thoughts on Wes’ connection to the Aryan Nation.

He could picture it as though he were seeing the other detective make it right now, though a quick glance over reassured him that his partner is still firmly ensconced in thoughts of gumdrops and something ridiculous, like them with a dog.

It would probably be something huge and obnoxious like a Great Dane, just because Travis knew Wes would get a smug sense of superiority at how impressive and large their dog is and how small and unimpressive all the other animals were in comparison.

He could already picture Wes getting into shouting matches at the dog park and slowly turning into one of those people who thinks their pet is human, Wes would probably go absolutely _ape-shit_ over dog-sized Christmas sweaters. And insist on Christmas cards where their human sweaters matched the dog’s.

He’s way the hell off topic here, but as soon as he thinks that, he smiles a bit wider, thinking of how Wes would have some quip ready about the integrity of his attention span, probably involving some sort of rude metaphor comparing him to an animal with an exceptionally small brain.

Travis’ grin grew wider as remembered that the blonde had been favoring small rodents in his insults this week, last week it had just been comments on his mental integrity, something that should bother him but he knew that Wes really didn’t think he was an idiot.

He thought of Wes’ hotel room, not even a full week ago and the memory solidified in his mind.

They had gotten into a _really_ loud and angry fight over something trivial, Travis was sure, but Wes had all but pushed him up against the wall, using just the momentum of his movement and the force of his anger, which Travis will admit is pretty fucking scary, especially now that he knows that Wes can lose it in the blink of an eye, turn an argument into a potential hospital trip.

Not that he’s scared of Wes, and he’s certainly not going to be a battered man, he remembered he’d made that decision right then and there. This is not the Lifetime Channel and if Wes can throw a punch in his direction, he can sure as hell take one in return.

Wes’ face was bright red, the ugly cousin of his usually adorable flushed face.

It was like your friend had promised his cousin was really pretty and he was all right looking, so what’s the worst, right? And then you pull up at the house and the ugliest girl you’ve ever seen with your own two, God-given eyes is walking towards you and your only thought is “Shit, what fucking fresh hell is this?”

But you have to take her out anyway because you promised and if you don’t you’ll look like a dick. So to distract yourself, you focus on a pretty girl across the restaurant who could maybe resemble the wombat in front of you, if, and only if, you drink the next five cocktails really fast and close your eyes until you have to do that funny thing where you squint through your eyelashes.

This entire scenario had run through his head, leaving behind the crystallized thought, clear as a gong strike, that Wes’ angry face and his cute, shy, amused, aroused, blushing face were not the same thing, but the other man was standing so close to Travis, so he didn’t really mind so much.

Travis tuned back in, realized he might have been gone for maybe half a minute. Two tops, and lo and behold, his boyfriend (or whatever two grown men who don’t watch Bravo but are more or less in a relationship call themselves) is still fucking yelling.

Oh, for the love of sweet, Holy, Baby Jesus at Christmas dinner.

So he’d left a wet towel on Wes’ shoes, they could get them shined. He wasn’t sure it was worth the start of WWIII over here.

Hell, Travis would pay some little orphans (orphans deserve to get paid, as well as reimbursed for the price of air fare) to come straight over from Italy and live in Wes’ closet and craft this _insufferable_ man a pair of stupid replacement shoes made especially for his stupid, dumb feet.

Which, speaking of Wes’ feet, are too big and look weird because they’re all pale and bony and are always, no matter what, cold as ice. Travis isn’t sure how meaty a person’s feet are supposed to be, but he knows that Wes’ must have been teased in middle school and now they’ll only eat a cup of grapes a day.

A moment of blessed silence shocked him back into the present; he refocused on his partner, who had paused, by the looks of it, only momentarily, to catch his breath.

Wes’ mouth was just about to open again as he drew breath to probably shout so loudly Travis was sure they were placing bets down in the lobby, not that he hadn’t about thought that already, he’d just gotten distracted by -

“Your feet!” He blurted out the first thing that came into his mind while he had a second’s reprieve before the second wave of Hurricane Righteously Angered Wes battered onto the shore again.

He had interrupted Wes in what he hoped was a rude manner, considering that the blonde had been screaming into his face for, yup, a surreptitious glance at the clock confirmed it, almost ten minutes. “Your feet! They’ll never be Captain of the squad unless they eat something more substantial!”

There was a moment of complete, _beautiful_ silence and Travis thought he heard faint applause trying to drift through the walls from all the other occupied rooms on the floor.

“And another thing! I did not sign up to take Ugly Betty out on a date! I signed up to take Smokin’ Hot Susan out on a date and I demand that she come out at once,” Travis yelled out, though no where near the decibel that the open-mouthed, utterly bewildered-looking blonde had been screaming in, and Travis was sure it was up there with standing next to a jet engine without any protective gear. He just waited of a reply, hoping the completely and inappropriately irreverent non sequitur would shock the other man into more silence.

Oh, there is a God! It worked!

The blonde had stayed angry for approximately another twenty-seven seconds before his face softened. He rolled his eyes heartily as he leaned in to kiss Travis’ jaw.

“I’m pretty sure you’re missing most of the basic neurological pathways people normally use,” his voice was hoarse from shouting as he leant in to place a gentle kiss on Travis’ mouth, but his lips were soft and the kiss was chaste.

Travis could recognize an apology when he heard and was kissed with one. But an apology that came wrapped in an insult? Only Wes…

“You calling me stupid?” he had asked, running his hands over Wes’s shoulders, then bringing them up to clutch his shoulder blades, pull him in closer, trying to erase the memory of seeing Ugly Betty howling at him like one of those monkeys.

And then Wes had nuzzled into his neck and Travis decided that the rest of quiet time was better spent laying together on the bed, watching some truly trash television that he barely paid attention to because he was thoroughly engrossed with counting each and every one of the hairs on the back of Wes’ neck. It was a tricky job, because the hairs were so small and fine and just the right color to almost get lost in the hue of his partner’s skin, but somebody had to do it.

And that was when the lightening bolt flew through the air, Express Delivery straight from Zeus’ hand, and struck Travis right upside his (he’d say generously-shaped, if he had a choice and maybe slightly larger than average, if he was pushed, but Wes would probably say something like, improper fetal development-shaped in both instances, because he’s just a dick like that) head.

He actually thought he heard a crash of thunder, that’s how fucking obvious it was to him that he’d had an epiphany, he quickly glanced around the room, but no one seemed to be concerned by the noise that meant an indoor water display was imminent, so he glanced over at Wes, who had finally returned from la-la land where their adopted daughter is named like, Leigh Savannah Rose, or something equally ridiculous because he probably would let Wes get away with naming her something like that.

He would be safe with the knowledge that no one would dare tease her because first off, she’d have two (not criminally, he’s been tested, though he can’t speak for his partner) insane, tough-as-shitting-out-nails (Travis is only twenty percent sure he got that one right, but whatever, he’s having a fucking breakthrough here) cops for dads and she’d also probably grow into the toughest, nastiest little badass any kiddie on the playground ever had the displeasure of trying to fuck with.

He could see her, hypothetically, in his mind. Wes would want to adopt a mixed-race baby, so she’d look like both of them, and he’d be one of those crazy parents who sterilizes _everything_ the kid might even look at because, and here, he heard Wes’ voice clear as day, as a loudly as a bell ringing in a chapel:

“Look at this place, it’s fu-filthy,” he’d snap, his face drawn up in a scowl of epic proportions, almost as irritated with himself for having a near-expletive slip in front of their daughter as he is with the blatant _incompetence_ of whoever’s job it was to keep wherever the hell they currently are clean and impeccable enough for their kid to even be in the same county.

He’d be complained to the manager and some poor schmuck was definitely going to be reprimanded, if not lose him his job and Travis would tell him he’d meet him in the car, that he forgot to hit the head.

And then he’d have to pull the manager aside and assure him that everything was perfectly satisfactory and that there was no need to yell at the janitorial staff, don’t mind his partner, who was bipolar with OCD, after all.

He’d shrug mildly, put on his best good-naturedly, “can’t-live-with-‘em, am I right?” smile, slip the guy a twenty and meet Wes and Leigh out in the car, his overly-devoted and quite possibly actually OCD partner none-the-wiser and then they’d go home and…

Travis snapped out of his daydream when the phone sitting on Wes’ desk rang, loud and obnoxious, interrupting the nice lunch he and Wes were gonna make in the kitchen, sneaking kisses while Leigh made a content mess of herself in her highchair, their house filled to burst with delighted giggles and various other baby sounds, though to him they all sounded the same, all bubbly with incomprehension and joy.

He barely registered the low murmur of Wes picking up the phone, “Mitchell, here,” as he returned into the recesses of his mind, trying to work out the true meaning behind the lightening bolt.

Travis wasn’t exactly an expert here on baby noises and why other people considered them so wonderful. The closest he’d ever been to a baby had been when Susan’s niece had come over and he’d needed to babysit while she went out for a “job interview”.

And the only noises that little bundle of annoying, fussy baby had made (other than the screaming like Travis was trying to dismember him in the bathtub) had been truly revolting. His little farts and burbs had not, contrary to popular belief, been made cute by the fact that he resembled a miniature old person.

He’d cried the entire time, three-and-a-half fucking long, horrible hours. There was fussing and spitting up whatever disgusting flavor of baby food he was trying to shovel into the kid’s mouth.

They could call it baby food all they wanted to, but Travis’d call it like he saw it and what he saw was a little pale pink jar of vomit, he didn’t blame the kid for refusing to eat it, but was it really necessary to refuse it all over Travis’ clothes and hair?

And finally, when the prodigal fucking niece had returned, more than the allotted three hours later, looking happy, really red in the face, and a bit wobbly on her feet, he’d shoved the baby at her and wiped his hands of the whole, messy affair.

He had been more than a little pissed that he’d gotten swindled into an afternoon in the seventh circle of hell so that little-miss-sneaky-boozing-mommy could traipse around town all afternoon getting her buzz on. Why didn’t she stay home and get sloshed while she watched her own damn kid, like a responsible alcoholic mother?

And now, he was sitting here daydreaming about domestic bliss involving a toddler who got more food on their nice hardwood floors (laminated, going by luminosity of the shine, because apparently future him and Wes had nice taste) than inside her stomach.

But who also didn’t _exist_ , Leigh hadn’t been real, he reminded himself; but it had still made him all warm and fucking fuzzy inside, but also dangerously full of something else he couldn’t identify.

In fact, as a general rule, the more he thought about Wes, Travis could practically _see_ the waves fondness and affection and yes, _something like love_ (but that was a nasty four-letter word and he tried to avoid it, even in his mind) pouring off of him.

But he knew the facts. Wes made his skin crawl, which should be unpleasant but was actually the best feeling ever, and his chest contract in almost painfully for no reason at all. Those blue eyes, several shades darker than his own, looking at him with all the things that Wes hadn’t said was enough to make Travis dizzy.

He was barely holding his ground. He wanted to be around his partner all the time, but like, _all the fucking time_ and he hated going back to his empty trailer, lying in his bed that was unacceptably devoid of a certain blonde who was secretly the biggest cuddle-slut known to man.

Not that it was about the sex, though they hadn’t actually gotten around to the main event yet. Travis was absurdly content to indulge in literally hours of make out sessions and lazy caresses, was happy, even, just to spend all the time he could basking in Wes’ body heat, arms curled around his partner.

It was comforting, something that Travis had never indulged in before, Wes’ kisses were slow and long and even when they took their clothes off, their touches stayed unhurried and almost unbearably gentle. He still wanted to fuck Wes, shit did he want to fuck him until they were both incoherent puddles of sexed-out haziness, but he could feel Wes’ hesitation.

Travis wasn’t sure what it felt like to be in love, had never seen it with his own two eyes or experienced it firsthand. The majority of his foster moms had been single, wanting to spend their time and expend their love on a child. He knew what unconditional love looked like, the effortless and easy affection that each of those women had shown him throughout his adolescence. But he had seen few examples of romantic love in his life, his adulthood being completely and utterly devoid of such a sentiment.

That is, until he had met Wes and seen his partner around Alex. It was obvious, standing outside looking in, that they had cared about each other a great deal. Even so, Travis was extremely hesitant to base his model of a healthy, loving, romantic relationship off of the example he had seen between Wes and Alex (who had gotten divorced over _him_ , after all).

Was that what Wes really felt? The blonde had ruined what he had shared with Alex over his man-child of a partner (Wes’ words, not his) and now felt that in order to set things right, he needed to commit to Travis in the same way that he had to Alex?

Travis wasn’t sure where the blonde’s head was at in terms of motivations. He was sure that Wes had the best intentions at heart, wanting to trap him in a monogamous relationship, snare him with Arthur (so what, he had named the Great Dane too?) and Leigh. Create a perfect world where they drove a stylish minivan and hosted soccer team dinners.

Travis could practically see it, down to the last detail, had an image in his head of an adorable ballerina outfit that Leigh would practically bring down the house for.

A tutu she would end up getting for her sixth birthday, despite the fact that she didn’t take ballet (Wes would never be able to deny her anything because despite his strict demeanor, he was a major spoiler, something Travis had honed in on early and started to take advantage of almost immediately) and would probably only wear it once or twice before she decided that ballerinas were stupid.

And while Travis wouldn’t mind any of this, especially the family and dog, what if _this_ was Wes’ pattern? What if the blonde was a serial monogamist who latched onto a person, only to fall out of love with them a couple of years later and he didn’t even realize it?

Travis wasn’t sure that he could deal with that, deal with having something he hadn’t even realized he wanted and then having the rug snatched out from under him.

He watched Wes wrap up his phone call in the corner of his eye, shuffling papers around on his desk to try and make it look like he hadn’t just been bowling on Epiphan-Alley.

He knew that Wes was probably the best thing to ever happen to him; the blonde was steady and sure where he was unpredictable and ever changing. Travis wasn’t known for his emotional commitments whereas they were practically his partner’s bread and butter.

While the thought of losing Wes scared him almost silly, Travis was smart enough to realize that if he didn’t offer his partner the opportunity of these things, a future involving a theoretical Arthur and Leigh, losing him would be inevitable.

And so, Travis made up his mind.

Having Wes, with whatever the hell their current situation was, was more than he’d ever thought or hoped for. But the mere thought of _not_ having Wes was more than he was willing to examine, it made his heart stop and his head cloud with terror.

If this thing unraveled, it was damn sure wasn’t going to be Travis’ fault. This was it, time to step up to the plate. Except he really had no idea how to do it.

“Hey! We caught a case downtown, if you’re up for it,” Wes said, sounding like it wasn’t the first time he had tried to get Travis’ attention.

“What? Yeah, sure,” he answered automatically, trying to ground himself in the daily happenings of his job, shaking thoughts of smiling, brown-eyed toddlers and stately Great Danes in sweaters from his mind, focusing back on the here and now.

“Wait, aren’t we still finishing the paperwork on this last one?” he grumbled when his mind finally caught up.

The look he received in response was condescending but also extremely fond, as though he was a perpetual source of amusement for his partner.

“Davidson and Smith can take it, if you want. It sounds pretty straight forward though, probably be back home in time for Dr. Sexy, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Wes smirked at him.

“Holding you to that,” Travis said under his breath as he shoved all the loose papers on the Greene-Anderson case back into the manila folder they had come out of.

Somehow his folders never managed to look as neat as Wes’, he made a mental note to switch all of the paperwork in Wes’ desk around when his partner was next in the break room as he grabbed his jacket from the chair and made a gesture for the blonde to lead the way.

“I seriously don’t know why you watch that show,” Wes frowned as he left their desk and started walking towards the door.

“The acting is so bad and the plot lines are ludicrous,” he continued, shaking his head as he held it open for Travis without even realizing as they trailed out of the building, much to the amusement of the people nearest the door.

Travis ignored them, head held high as Wes followed him through the outer doors.

“Are you serious?” Travis asked, a genuine smile breaking out over his face as he followed the blonde towards the parking lot and held open the car door for Wes, for purposes of reciprocity, of course. Also, he was sure the frenzy over the “Great Handcuff Adventure” had worn off and no one actually watched them from the windows anymore.

“Uhm, Dr. Sexy’s estranged twin brother is sleeping with his pregnant ex-wife and the new interns are all insane. I mean, the brunette killed a patient last week because she was too busy snorting lines in the on-call room to realize her beeper was going off!” he had given up on Wes enjoying the show ages ago, but derived almost as much entertainment from his partner not getting the show.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I need to worry about when I’m in the hospital. ‘Is my doctor too busy doing drugs to save my life?’ As if,” the other man grumbled as they got into the car.

“It’s something to think about, Wes. Doctors are people too, ya know,” he said, already grinning in anticipation of where this particular conversation would lead, knowing from past experience that Wes was about to launch into a tirade about the demands of med school and how a cokehead would never be able to graduate.

Almost a conditioned response, Travis slid his hand next to the gearshift as soon as the car pulled out of the parking lot, knowing that Wes would reach for it soon.

Wes did, sliding his long, warm fingers into his partner’s almost as soon as he had merged with traffic (complete with a four-second stop at the stop sign on the corner with proper blinker etiquette), completely oblivious to the shit-eating grin plastered on Travis’ face as he began his lecture, was enough to solidify Travis’ earlier epiphanies.

Travis tuned him out, instead focusing on the cadences of Wes’ voice as the blonde wove in and out of traffic, gently stroking his thumb over his partner’s pulse point as they sped towards their latest crime scene.

“I mean, the reading alone. And that’s not even counting exams and attending class,” Wes continued somewhere over to the left of Travis’ thoughts.

“You like dogs, right?” he interrupted Wes’ tirade, which he knew by heart now anyway, suddenly and without realizing what was coming out of his mouth.

“…Yes?” Wes said hesitantly, looking confused and a little bit annoyed that Travis hadn’t been listening to him.

“Oh, I was thinking of getting one. Wanna come to the shelter with me? To like, pick one out?” Travis mumbled, trying desperately to seem nonchalant.

Wes was uncharacteristically silent for a full minute, his hand entirely still in Travis’, eyes focused on traffic.

“You don’t really have the space for a dog, Travis,” the blonde said after a while, still avoiding eye contact, the only reaction he gave was switching lanes without taking his hand away to put the blinker on.

“Yeah, I guess not.” Travis mumbled, trying to tamp down on the feelings of disappointment he really hadn’t expected.

“I mean, I was thinking of moving out of the trailer soon, anyways… Not really much for me there, anymore.” He said trying a different tack, though he tried to be equally as nonchalant, he still felt like there was a neon sign floating above his head flashing, “Ulterior Motives” interspersed with “I’m Trying To Trick You!” in bright red lights.

Travis was usually grateful for his complexion because whenever he blushed slightly, he got away with it a lot better than his partner, who instantly looked like a lobster, no matter how mild his embarrassment. Now though, as hot as his face was, Travis knew there was no hiding this blush unless he just removed his head.

At least he wasn’t alone.

“Oh?” Wes said, obviously trying not to sound too interested though he tightened his grip on Travis’ hand, oh so minutely.

“I thought it was the perfect spot for…” the blonde stopped to cough, as though it would cover his suddenly red face, “uhm, hook-ups?”

This time, he did take his hand away, fixing both of them on the wheel for no reason as he remained in the same lane, eyes still dead ahead. Travis noted Wes’ knuckles were white and spared a thought as to the abuse the steering wheel received at the hands of his repressive partner on a daily basis.

Travis rolled his eyes and reached out to pry the blonde’s right hand off of the steering wheel.

“Nah, man. My main squeeze has this fancy hotel room with _room service_ , so the trailer’s kind of run its course.” Travis said, studying the side of Wes’ face intently. He was rewarded when Wes glanced at him, eyes wide with his mouth actually open before the blonde schooled his features again.

“Actually, one of my foster brothers needs a place to crash while he ‘takes a breather’ from his wife… I told him he could stay there, so how much does a room at your cushy hotel cost, exactly?”

Now he was entirely sure that you could fry an egg on his forehead but he wasn’t backing down. Hopefully, if he laid the right breadcrumbs, Hansel here would follow them and figure it out.

‘Moving in together wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen,’ Travis tried to use his Jedi mind powers to get Wes on the same page. ‘Actually, I want to, but don’t know how to ask, you idiot.’

“Well, that’s stupid,” Wes grumbled after a few moments of silence, as if he had needed to digest the information. “The hotel is actually ridiculously expensive if you don’t sign a long-term lease,” he explained, his hand relaxing back into Travis’.

“You can just stay with me until you find an apartment,” he said in a tone that brokered no argument.

And now Travis’ sign read “Gotcha!” as he tried to school his features into concern rather than maniacal glee.

“You sure?” he asked for appearance’s sake, trying his best uncertain frown. It wouldn’t do to overplay it.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Wes snapped but Travis just stroked his middle finger over his partner’s wrist until the tension in his shoulders dropped an inch or two and looked out the window grinning like the cat who got the cream (and the insanely hot but equally irritating partner as well).

-.-.-.-.-.-

The crime scene was pretty cut and dry, the body had been left in an abandoned building, phoned in by one of the squatters for a hefty reward of $100.

The victim couldn’t have been more than twenty-five and for once Travis’ scowl threatened to eclipse Wes’. He hated the young ones.

She had been about five foot seven, light brown hair a matted mess around her face, most of it tacky with dried blood. She had been pretty and her clothes had been nice but not flashy, so she wasn’t from this part of town.

She had probably been lost or just passing through and stopped to give the wrong person directions or help. Her wallet still had her license (which identified her as one Randi D’Angelo, aged 24 from Palo Alto, a long way from home then), but anything else she had been carrying was long gone; purse, cell phone, car keys, cash, credit cards, even her library card if she’d had one.

They had even taken her shoes, though Travis wasn’t entirely sure that the squatters hadn’t liberated her of those particular possessions. He knew shoes were hard to come by when you lived on the streets, but still, lack of respect for the dead irked him.

Randi’s throat had been slashed, but not by someone who knew what they were doing. Some asshole had probably seen it on Criminal Minds and didn’t realize how difficult it was to actually slice completely and cleanly through someone’s neck tissue. Amateurs often cut too zealously and snagged their weapon on the spinal chord. Unfortunately Randi’s death had been one of those botch jobs.

She had lain there, slowly bleeding out for hours. She would have been too weak from blood loss to get up, her throat a mess of damaged flesh so she couldn’t even call out for help. She had spent her last moments on Earth alone and terrified, completely aware of the fact that she was dying, in the worst pain imaginable.

And for what?

She was a college kid in a t-shirt for some television show he’d watched twice and well-worn jeans with probably thirty bucks to her name and someone had decided she needed to die for it. Looking at her face, utterly serene and blank in death, he knew, he just _knew_ that she was the kind of person who’d give her last dollar to someone who asked for it.

It was enough to make Travis want to cry or just scream at the top of his lungs until all of his anger at the world had died down from sheer exhaustion.

He suddenly, desperately didn’t want this case.

He looked around for his partner; figuring they could at least get started as soon as possible, try their best to bring the cold comfort of justice to her friends and family. Wes wasn’t anywhere in the building and by time Travis had finished searching the warehouse for the blonde detective, it seemed that he had probably taken off without him.

Muttering under his breath, he did a quick mental scan of what he could have possibly done to Wes in the last 48 hours to warrant being left at a crime scene. When he couldn’t come up with anything on his own (and it was unlikely the other detective was pissed at him and hadn’t said anything about it. Wes loved to tell Travis often, loudly and usually in great detail what he’d done wrong), he could almost feel the black storm cloud forming over his head.

He practically stomped out of the building into the parking lot, glowering at anything and one that made eye contact with him when he heard his name from the far corner of the lot.

“Travis!” he’d recognize Wes’ voice anytime, anywhere. Trying to bite back the sheepish grin for all of the unseemly names he’d just been calling his partner to himself, he started over towards the blonde.

“Thought you took off without me,” he grumbled at the other man.

“Nah, just had to move the car for the CSI van to get through,” Wes said, absently, looking into the distance as though he’d seen something interesting. Travis cocked a confused eyebrow.

“I spoke to Sutton and told him you’re in the middle of moving so maybe it would be better if we sat this one out,” he continued, and Travis could tell he was trying not to blush because he wasn’t being entirely successful in his attempt.

“You know I hate the young ones,” he said softly, trying to will Wes to look at him. When the other man finally did, Travis didn’t even try to school his expression to wipe what he was sure was the sappiest, dumbest grin in the history of sentimentality off of his face.

And there was Wes’ wholesale blush, the one that Travis liked best because it was the blush he caused.

Travis didn’t say anything and he couldn’t kiss Wes like he really wanted to with them being on the job, at a crime scene and all, so he settled for bumping his shoulder softly against the other man’s and hoped he got the message.

It was just another reason this whole… _thing_ between them made stupid amounts of sense. It had been five and a half years and they knew each other so well and so explicitly under the title of “partner”, it was throwing his hunting nose to try and act differently.

But in that moment, Travis kind of got it. Now, it was okay to want to kiss Wes until they were both breathless for getting him out of this case.

Wes had done it because he _cared_ and it was about time he let Wes know that it was okay for them to show their feelings for each other like that now, for him to be allowed to be grateful for the gesture. Time for them to finally be honest with each other.

He turned to Wes and felt his chest flutter at how red Wes’ ears still were, wanted to suggest an evening out with their newfound free time.

“Lunch?” he asked the blonde, still smiling like an idiot. “I was thinking Los Tacos Locos? We haven’t been there in a while.” Travis’ attention was stolen before his partner could answer by a pale flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.

His head whipped around instinctively and Wes immediately followed his line of sight to the corner of the building.

“What is it? Perp?” the blonde asked, hand already hovering over his holster.

“Nah, I don’t think so. Slow down, Magnum. Just, keep it holstered but watch my six,” Travis answered tightly, already moving towards the alley.

“Always got your back,” Wes said in a distracted, matter of fact voice, his eyes still scanning the corner of the buildings.

Travis glanced back at him and felt his stomach do a strange flip at the look on the blonde’s face. It was determined and serious, full of absolute faith in Travis. Shaking his head, Travis turned back to the alley they were now standing in. One last glance at Wes to make sure his gun was still holstered and he began to creep further in.

Of course CSU had already been down it, but sometimes witnesses came back or animals carried evidence off (like that time a hoarder squirrel had made off with a case-solving engagement ring which had only been retrieved by some incredible luck and the CCTV cameras of the bank next door) and it couldn’t hurt to check again.

Turns out he was right and then some.

Crouched between the dumpsters was the most terrified looking little girl with the biggest hazel eyes Travis had ever seen.

She was wearing a tattered, formerly white nightgown and clutching at her arms so desperately Travis’ heart threatened to break right then and there. Her raven black hair was a snarled mess where it raggedly tumbled down around her shoulders.

He held up a hand behind him to stop Wes from barreling over with his perma-scowl, they didn’t need to startle the kid any more than she already was.

So carefully, his every movement tracked by those haunting little eyes, Travis knelt in front of the girl.

“Hey there,” he said for his most soothing voice, the jumper voice, and tried for his best trustworthy smile. “You okay? Need any help?”

He didn’t try to touch her and when his words received no response, he tried to think of anything else he could do without invading her personal space, seeing as how she looked like was ready to bolt as soon as she saw a window.

He was betting a big man getting all in her face and trying to restrain her so other big, strange men with guns could ask her a bunch of frightening questions wouldn’t do her any good at this point.

Slowly, he moved his hand to his stomach where his badge hung from a chain around his neck.

“I’m here to help you. I’m a police officer,” he continued, holding up the badge so she could see it clearly. The girl’s eyes flashed from his face to the badge and then back again so fast he might have missed it if he had blinked. He kept his disarming smile on and still didn’t make any sudden moves.

This time he did blink and he unexpectedly found himself with an armful of shaking, crying, five year old girl. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around her tiny frame, stroked her back, hoping to calm her down.

“Uhm?” Wes stood awkwardly by the edge of the dumpster, obviously out of his depth.

Travis stood, cradled the child to his chest as he turned to face Wes.

“Call the Cap. We got a situation here,” Travis mumbled, still trying to comfort the small girl.

-.-.-.-.-.

Four hours later, a much less terrified April had uttered her name and not much else. She also bodily refused to be removed from Travis’ side.

Wes had driven them back to the station, mouth drawn in a tight line the whole time, practically vibrating with tension but sensed that the girl would not be up for one of his and Travis’ more tense arguments at the moment.

Once back at the station, the Captain had called CFSD and Social Services and a child psychologist. Unfortunately, April didn’t have anything to say to any of them, only lifting her face out of Travis’ neck to stare at the parade of well-meaning strangers warily.

They had no idea who she was, where she was from or what she had been doing hanging around a crime scene. She either didn’t know her surname or was unwilling to tell them anything else. The only people who had actually heard her speak were Travis and Wes, and at this point, Wes was starting to think he had hallucinated that one tiny word in her shaking toddler’s voice.

She refused to tell the psychologist anything and wouldn’t even respond to Travis’ cajoling after a couple of questions. When the nice lady from CFSD, who looked like this kind of thing was her least favorite, tried to take April into her arms, the girl had screamed like somebody was trying to stab her to death and reacted violently, one of her tiny flailing fists making sharp contact with the woman’s eye twice before she wisely gave up.

April was still wrapped around Travis like a clingy sort of monkey-child though she appeared to have fallen into a restless sleep, twitching and tightening her fingers in Travis’ coat periodically.

He sighed softly and turned to face Wes. His partner didn’t look displeased, but he definitely looked uncomfortable.

“What are they going to do with her?” the blonde whispered, coming to stand right before Travis.

“No idea, man. But she is going to kick a shit fit when they try to take her away.” Travis answered, sounding fond.

Wes shook his head and turned to look across the room where the social worker lady and the child psychologist looked to be locked in a very serious battle of wills.

Wes was about to open his mouth again when his cell beeped. He checked the text message quickly.

_Wes come to my office immediately Sutton._

“The Captain wants me in his office and still doesn’t understand how punctuation works on a cell phone,” he whisper-laughed to Travis. His partner smirked as Wes made his way to the Captain’s office, past the still-arguing civil servants.

He came into the office but didn’t immediately see his superior.

“Captain?” he asked suspiciously.

“Back here,” came the muffled response from behind the desk.

Wes really didn’t want to go and see first hand what was happening behind the desk but he had no choice since the Captain hadn’t made himself visible when Wes entered the office.

When he finally saw what the Captain was up to he wished Travis were here to see it as well.

The aging Captain was contorted like a pretzel on a yoga mat behind his desk. His legs were bent with the bottoms of his feet touching as he tried to bend over to grasp his knees. He was unhealthily red in the face and sweating profusely but paid little attention to that as he began to grill Wes on the progress with the little girl.

“So, what does CFSD say?” he grunted, changing position to lie flat on his back to lift his right leg in the air.

Wes lifted an eyebrow and focused on trying to surreptitiously sneak a picture with his phone while holding it against his leg.

“That she needs to be placed in a group home immediately and that a stable environment will be just the thing to fix the hysterical muteness,” he answered, clicking away. He’d check them for quality later.

The Captain let his right leg go and just laid there breathing heavily for a minute before hoisting the left leg up as far as he could.

“What about the kiddie shrink?” the older man asked, looking like a tomato.

Wes had to actually bite back a laugh, still snapping like a hidden paparazzi.

“Well, the shrink says that separating the girl from Travis will have adverse effects on her recovery since she seems to have imprinted on him, or whatever, and he was the only one who got her to talk.”

The Captain grunted in response.

“Well, we want her back to talking as soon as possible, seeing as she’s a potential witness. Since she’s decided that Travis is her new best friend forever, you guys will have to watch her until she’s done with her mime impression. Now, before you make that face,” he continued, even though he was facing away from Wes at the moment and couldn’t see the grimace that had just graced his features.

“What? What face? I’m not making a face,” he said guiltily.

“Yeah, and I’m a Martian,” the Captain responded, a laugh in his voice. “Anyway, you boys put her up in the hotel with you. Just like regular witness protection and as soon as she decides to start talking again, we’ll see if she’s a witness or a street kid and put her through the correct channels.” He moved into a strange, hunched kneeling position with what looked like great difficulty.

“Okay, if Travis and the kid are bunking with me, is it good if we take off now? We should probably feed her and I’m beat.” Wes said quickly, glad the Captain was oblivious to the fact that Travis was supposed to be moving in with him regardless.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Gimme a minute to clean up here and send the arguing people in when you leave,” the Captain answered, finally hoisting himself off the floor with Wes’ help.

Shaking his head, Wes went to collect his partner and their new charge and finally go home.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Thankfully April slept through the entire car ride. Wes left them both in the room while he ran to the nearest Wal Mart and grabbed some clothes that he eyeballed to be in her size. She was pretty small and he’d never had to deal with anything having remotely to do with children before.

Between asking the sales girl questions that had apparently been very unsettling, if her face when they were done speaking was anything to go by (he was actually sure that his badge was the only thing that had stopped her from calling Chris Hansen right then), and the many texts back and forth to Travis about the purported dimensions of their miniature witness, he finally left Wal Mart about an hour after he’d gone in.

He’d grabbed two pairs of full-length jean overalls, a couple of t-shirts, two pairs of really small sneakers that he hoped fit, two sets of footie pajamas, and a couple of dresses with plenty of ruffles and bows, because little girls liked shit like that, right?

Hopefully they wouldn’t have the girl for that long.

By time he got back to the hotel room, he wasn’t sure what he expected but it wasn’t what he found.

Travis had apparently passed out since the last time Wes had texted him.

He was lying on the bed, legs akimbo with one arm tightly wrapped around April.

She was lying on his chest like a starfish as if she was trying to permanently attach herself to him, her tiny hands fisted into the fabric of Travis’ shirt and her face jammed into his neck.

It was… unexpected, but also probably the sweetest thing Wes had ever seen.

Smiling to himself, Wes toed off his shoes, tugged his suit jacket off and took his holster and belt off, making sure, for the first time ever, to actually put his gun in the safe. As an afterthought, he crossed back over to Travis and unclipped his holster as well. Better safe than sorry.

Wes slowly and carefully climbed onto the bed on the other side, trying not to jostle its sleeping occupants.

He unconsciously snaked in to be closer to Travis and was soon dead asleep.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Travis woke up overheated, hotter than the sun. And hungry. He was hot and hungry and really didn’t understand either feeling this early in the morning.

Suddenly his eyes flew open when he remembered why he was hot. There was a heating blanket, masquerading as a little girl, draped over and clinging to his chest and another in the shape of his partner pressed against his side. Between the two human furnaces he’d slept with, he was surprised he hadn’t combusted. The hunger must be because they’d never actually eaten when they got back to the hotel.

Wes had taken off to get the kid clothes and Travis must have been more tired than he thought, letting April’s small, steady breaths against his chest lull him into sleep.

But now he needed to pee and possibly drink a gallon of water as well as eat a small horse. April could come along for the second two, but not the first. Deciding that detaching them and leaving her alone while she was knocked out was kind of cruel; he carefully and very gently managed to lift her off of him and slid her into the circle of Wes’s arm he had just vacated.

Neither of them even shifted. Smooth move.

After he had peed, brushed his teeth and drunk enough water from the tap that he could actually hear it sloshing around in his stomach, he tried to stretch the phone cord into the bathroom and ordered room service.

Luckily, the television was far enough away from the bed that when he turned it on and immediately jammed the mute button on the remote, he still hadn’t woken up his roommates.

Zoning out, he tried to come to grips with the last 48 hours.

Being a homicide detective meant that at any moment his universe could be completely opposite what it had been a day ago, but this was entirely new.

He and his partner were responsible for a _child_ , at least a couple of days. He had no idea how this was going to impact their… relationship, but he was sure it wasn’t going to be good. Hell, he had no idea how to deal with a kid.

Wes had this cockamamie idea that Travis was irresponsible and childish, unable to handle real responsibility. And when he felt like he was being unfairly saddled with Travis’ share of work or having to run things due to Travis’ inability to (wholly imagined inability, thank you very much) he tended to get _tense_.

If there was one way Travis didn’t like his partner, other than mad (but that was like his default setting so Travis had gotten used to it by this time), it was when he got tense.

Fortunately, April picked that moment to wake up. She froze immediately as she realized that Wes was the adult nearest to her and looked up with big, scared eyes until her gaze fell on Travis.

A small, almost smile drifted across her face and she instantly abandoned Wes to settle beside Travis, still looking up at him.

Travis couldn’t help it. She was just so _tiny_ and looking at him like he was personally responsible for hanging the moon or some shit. Before he knew it, he lifted his arm so she could fit in against his side, her tiny body generating a lot of heat for something so slight.

“You sleep okay, kid?” he asked in a whisper, not really expecting a response but when she nodded, small and precise, he was inexplicably happy that she had done so.

“Well, I ordered breakfast. You hungry?” he kept his question light, he didn’t want to scare her into complete unresponsiveness again. He was also hoping she would move past the constant contact thing, not that little kid snuggles weren’t nice, but he wasn’t sure how having a toddler as his Siamese twin was going to work out.

She nodded again, more slowly.

Travis smiled and then turned his attention back to the television.

He looked back at April when she started to shuffle around, but every time he turned to look at her, she stopped. Raising an eyebrow, he continued to watch carefully out of the corner of his eye as the minutes progressed and she got more and more squirmy.

“What’s going on?” he asked when her fidgeting finally got to the point that he couldn’t ignore it.

Of course, instead of answering, she looked at him with a slightly pained face and pointed at her lower stomach, squirming anxiously.

Travis belated realized that she had been doing the pee dance as he shot straight up and grabbed her, running for the bathroom.

He stopped at the door and put her down. She just stood there, staring at him as she practically pranced from leg to leg.

“Dude, I can’t go in with you. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal. Go ahead, I’ll be right here when you get back.” He tried to sound reassuring, gave her a gentle nudge when she still didn’t move.

“Come on,” he begged unashamedly. “If you pee on the floor, Wes will _freak_. Trust me, neither of us needs that today. Go!” he gave her another gentle nudge and practically sagged in relief when she finally sprinted into the bathroom.

She came out a couple of minutes later and smiled at him. He found himself smiling back before he had even realized it, bending down to pick her up again.

Suddenly he paused as a thought occurred to him.

“You can’t reach the sink, can you?” Of course there was no response other than her staring at him blankly, even though she hadn’t stopped smiling.

“Right, first lesson of living with Wes. Always wash your hands.” He led her back into the bathroom by her wrist so he could sit her on the counter and get her hands clean.

When the room service guy came, he woke Wes up knocking because Travis was still in the bathroom with April, who absolutely _loved_ running water and soap, for which Travis was grateful. At least bath time wouldn’t be a traumatic experience. Well, at least not for April. She liked water a little too much, splashing and sloshing it all over Wes’ pristine counters, grabbing the faucets and smearing tiny, soapy handprints all over the mirror.

Travis let her play, figured the more he made her happy, the sooner she would decide to start talking again.

Wes suddenly appeared in the doorway, frozen in place for a second. Travis supposes he’d forgotten about April for a while since she hadn’t been there to remind him as soon as he got up.

“Mornin’,” he said, his voice still rough with sleep. April surprised both of them when she looked up from the sink, met his eyes in the mirror and actually waved a hand in greeting.

“Morning yourself,” Travis answered easily as he hauled April up by the waist and pulled a towel off the wall to try and pat her down. She squirmed in protest but even then didn’t say anything.

When he put her down again, she instantly shot out of the bathroom, apparently more interested in the possibility of food now.

Figuring she couldn’t get up to much in a minute or two, Travis sidled up to Wes, placed an affectionate kiss on his neck.

“How’d you sleep, Mama Bear?” he grinned into his partner’s still sleep-warmed skin, felt as Wes groaned in protest, pained by this new nickname.

“Please, she barely knows I exist. If anyone’s Mama Bear, it’s _you,_ ” he tried to argue, even as his arms came up to pull Travis in closer.

“No, you’re Mama Bear. Come on, I know you wanna say something about the sink,” he laughed as Wes made a face but still placed a chaste kiss on his mouth before stepping away.

“Go watch April, please. I’d like to get my security deposit back when I move out of here,” the blonde grumbled as he ushered Travis out of the bathroom, smacking him on the ass and laughing at the faux incredulous look on his face as he quietly closed the bathroom door on him.

Grinning like the Cheshire cat, Travis left Wes alone to go attend to their little houseguest, smiling over the fact that Wes had started to say “when” instead of “if” in terms of his moving.

The smile instantly dropped off his face at the sight of April staring at the television, eyes panicked, the remote falling out of her hand onto the floor. He’d left it on and she’d unmuted it, probably looking for cartoons to watch.

The morning news bulletin had come on, an aerial view of the warehouse they had found her at yesterday as the overly peroxided blonde reporter lady in her stupid blazer seemed to gleefully shout “murder” five hundred times in the space it took Travis to quickly stride around the child to switch it off.

When he spun around to face her, she was crying silently as she turned those big, hazel eyes on him. Travis felt it hit like a sock to the gut. He pulled her into his arms and rocked her softly until she was done, the hiccups finally subsiding into gentler breathing.

She had fallen back asleep, tired herself out with hysterical crying. Travis cursed under his breath as he laid her down on the bed to sleep it off. He didn’t know how long she was going to stay mute but it didn’t look good and the abrupt trip down memory lane certainly hadn’t helped matters.

Wes came out of the bathroom in his robe, smiling slightly until he caught sight of Travis’ storm cloud of a face.

“What happened?” he asked, tensing as his eyes darted to each entrance by second nature.

“Nothing, she saw the news. Got upset.” Travis said tersely, trying not to snap at Wes because it wasn’t his fault. He still felt really shitty though, like he had failed at something, the memory of April’s expression still floating behind his eyes.

Of course Wes, when he wasn’t being a dick, was strangely almost physic when it came to Travis, reached for him immediately.

“It wasn’t your fault. She’ll be fine,” Wes murmured into his neck, pressed a gentle kiss there.

Travis allowed himself to be hugged for a couple of moments longer before he gently moved away.

“Yeah, but we’re supposed to be making her better. Not letting her scare herself half to death.” He lowered his head, tried to formulate what he was trying to say. It wasn’t all about April anymore and he wanted Wes to understand that.

“She’s so scared and so little and so _alone_. And right now, we’re all she’s got and I’m gonna do right by her.”

Meeting Wes’ eyes, Travis was suddenly struck by the thought that he’d been an idiot.

There was nothing but affection and concern in the blonde’s eyes and the depth of it almost bowled him over.

Wes wasn’t going to get tired of him or give up over some stupid bullshit. He hadn’t so far and his expression definitely said he wasn’t going to anytime soon.

Travis had to break eye contact, didn’t exactly know what to do with it.

Wes took a step forward like he wanted to comfort him, but Travis moved back slowly. Knew that if he didn’t at least start to get it out now, it might never come.

Travis took a deep breath, knew that he needed to get this across. This explanation that was also an apology and a confession all rolled into one.

His hands were sweating and he tried to swallow only to discover his throat was dry. He coughed roughly, dragged his palms down his pants and tried to make his heart stop thumping rapidly.

“It’s like, when you’re that young and there’s no one there… Shit’s tough. And that’s when you learn-” he broke off suddenly; really felt as though his throat was about to close up now, trying to trap his words inside.

He hazarded a glance at Wes who was just looking at him with the same soft expression in his eyes.

Fuck it. He can do this. He’s a grown man, for God’s sake.

He held Wes’ gaze this time, steady and resolute and cleared his throat pointedly before he continued.

“When you learn you’re alone that young, it sticks with you. You become a person that doesn’t need anyone else. And after a while, you wouldn’t even know _how_ to need anyone so you don’t really know what to do when there’s someone standing in front of you, trying to be there. So you kinda carry on like you’re still by yourself. So you might be really late figuring shit out or fuck things up and don’t let people who are really fucking important to you know it, ‘cause you don’t really know how.”

Let it be said that Travis Marks doesn’t cry. Hasn’t done since he was thirteen and doesn’t intend to take it up any time in the foreseeable future. He may get misty around the edges on certain occasions but those situations are deserving of a sniffle. Only when something just tugs at his heartstrings and he can’t help himself (and like, why did Mufasa have to die? How is _that_ fair?).

Or when he’s just realized that he’s stupidly, irrevocably, undeniably in love with someone for the first time in his life and it’s sort of like an out of body episode and he has no prior experience with all these _feelings_ scratching and clawing at the inside of his chest desperate for release but he has no idea no _clue_ how to let them out or what that would mean or even if he can or if he really means it and it’s the single most terrifying handful of seconds in his entire existence and then all of a sudden without any warning the dam breaks and it all comes spilling out and he holds his hands up to his mouth to try and keep it in but it won’t work and the words cascade down and out of him spill out onto the carpet between them and lap gently at Wes’ bare toes.

“I don’t know how this works and it never mattered before but now it _does_ and I don’t know how to tell you the things I want to. Because this has never happened to me and how am I supposed to _know_ if I’ve never done it before?”

This time he was sure he couldn’t have kept Wes from pulling him into an embrace if he beat him over the head.

Every thought in his mind fluttered away when Wes wrapped his arms around him and kissed him fiercely.

They kissed all the time and by this time Travis was sure he knew every kiss in the blonde’s repertoire, but this was new.

This kiss was desperate and eager and sloppy and perfect and open and scared and certain and breathtaking and heart stopping and warm and possessive and an offering and loving all at once.

They were both panting when they broke apart, stayed still for a minute, their foreheads resting together. Travis was sure that his heart was going to give out at any second; it had never beat so erratically or strongly ever before.

Wes, for his part, seemed to understand that Travis needed a minute to get his bearings. They stood in silence for a minute or two more until Travis pulled back reluctantly to look his partner in the face.

Wes was smiling so wide it almost looked like it hurt. Travis felt his face move before he’d even made the conscious decision to return his expression and he probably could have stayed there like that, Wes’ arms warm and loose around his shoulders, just looking at him smile like someone had stuck a thousand watt bulb up his ass, until the cows came home.

Wes interrupted his train of thought by leaning back in for another kiss, softer this time. It was softer both in touch and feeling but probably the most amazing kiss he’d ever gotten and Travis kind of felt like he was floating.

They separated slowly, reluctant to part, even though they wouldn’t be more than ten feet from each other for the rest of the day. Eventually they managed to get disentangled from each other only for Wes to grab his wrist looking for the entire world like a kid on Christmas morning and say the absolute perfect thing.

“I hope you ordered a fruit salad.”

And just like that, it was all okay. Nothing had exploded, the world was still spinning and Travis was definitely still in one piece.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

April slept for most of the morning. Wes wasn’t really thinking about April though. He was trying to convince himself to stop smiling like a fucking loon and to maybe pay attention to what Travis was telling him about this episode of Dr. Sexy (apparently it was his favorite, but then every episode seemed to be at one point or another).

But he couldn’t stop smiling and nothing was going to make him feel any less jittery. It was a good feeling, at least. After he had been stressing himself out for a month straight and glaring at perfectly nice waitresses and baristas and practically driving himself up and around the bend and Travis had just made it all fine with a heck of a lot of run on sentences and vague wording.

But that was fine. It was all _fine_.

Because Wes knew Travis pretty well and what he had just done was the equivalent of any other person professing undying love.

So, cuddling on the couch with his lover (seriously for lack of a better word, _boyfriend_ is too Twilight and partner is too much like work).


End file.
